Weekend Wife: A Fake Fiancée Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Erin McCarthy

  “I am so jealous of you right now. I want a weekend with billionaires in the Hamptons.”

  “You’re making me nervous.” I walked to my room, carefully making sure I didn’t slosh my wine. “I’m going to study my lines.”

  “All you need to know is ‘Yes, I would love another glass of champagne.’ The rest of the time you’ll just be staring at your hot fake boyfriend hating yourself for not being able to have sex with him.”

  That sounded one hundred percent accurate.

  “Goodnight.”

  In my room, I propped myself up in bed and skipped over the questions I was supposed to answer. I wanted to read Grant’s section first.

  His middle name was Edward.

  Of course it was.

  He grew up on the Upper East Side.

  Of course he did.

  He went to the Winchester Prep School for Boys in Connecticut.

  Because where else would he go?

  He had a nanny named Rose, who was retired and living in Florida.

  None of this told me anything about him, other than he’d had a life of financial prosperity.

  I decided I needed to get at least one actual childhood story from him. An anecdote. I pulled up his contact in my phone with the intention of texting him. Instead I hit the FaceTime button by accident.

  “Shit,” I murmured, hurrying up and lying back so I wouldn’t have a double chin when I popped up on his screen.

  Grant appeared in front of me. “Leah?” He looked and sounded curious. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and his hair was damp, like he’d just showered. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Where did you play when you were a kid?”

  “What?” He rubbed his beard. “What do you mean? I went to the park and on the weekends, we went to the Hamptons. I went sailing and horseback riding.”

  “Did you ever go to camp? Did you have your first kiss at sleepaway camp?” I tried to picture Grant having an awkward phase but I strongly suspected he hadn’t.

  “I did not go to camp. My mother was worried about Lyme disease.”

  For some reason that made me laugh. “A valid concern I’m sure.”

  “If you met my mother, it would make less sense. She’s not exactly warm and fuzzy.”

  “I am going to meet your mother.”

  He made a face. “Right. I don’t think I’m paying you enough.”

  “You didn’t answer my question about your first kiss. And are you naked right now? I’m just wondering.”

  Grant gave me a smile. “You wish.” He shifted the phone so I could see he was wearing a towel wrapped around his hips.

  It was a great view of his abs. I hadn’t gotten to see nearly enough in my bed. It had been all crowded bodies and hot skin. “I wouldn’t hate it,” I agreed.

  “My first kiss was with Shoshanna Gold. She was two years older than me and her parents had the house next door to mine. She kissed me in the pool.” Grant sat down on his bed.

  “She sounds like a nice girl.” I had a glimpse of his room around him and it was exactly what I had expected. Dark, masculine colors with furniture that looked like a designer had selected it. Everything looked expensive and well-curated. He lay back against a sea of gray pillows.

  “She was very nice to me. So who was your first kiss? At sleepaway camp?”

  I shrugged and sat up so I could sip my wine. “No. My parents thought real camp was too expensive. I went to a theater day camp and there were no guys there that were kissable. But the football team was practicing next door and I made out with a defensive lineman behind the bleachers. He was big and sweaty and I thought he was beautiful.”

  Grant’s eyebrows rose. “So you’re attracted to sweaty? I’ll make a note to call you after my workout.”

  I laughed. “No, I’m not exactly attracted to sweaty. It’s just he was so manly. Well, at fourteen he seemed manly to me.”

  “Where was this manly paragon? Where did you grow up?”

  “The suburbs of Buffalo.”

  “Buffalo?” He sounded shocked.

  “What? What’s wrong with Buffalo?”

  “I didn’t think anyone actually lived there. It feels more myth than reality.”

  “Okay, Mr. Manhattan.” I rolled my eyes. “You think Buffalo is a conspiracy theory? A hologram? Don’t hate on Buffalo. It’s a great town with hard-working people. Plus, we were close enough to Canada we could go over there and get drunk since their drinking age is nineteen.”

  “That’s a solid reason to appreciate your hometown.” Grant lifted a glass of water and took a sip.

  He didn’t seem annoyed that I had called or like I was interrupting his night. “What was this manly fourteen-year-old’s name?”

  “Bill.”

  “Bill from Buffalo?” Grant shook his head. “You’re making that up.”

  “I am not! There are lots of men named Bill in Buffalo.” I raised my free hand and ran it through my hair.

  Grant seemed to lose interest in Buffalo Bill. “What are you wearing?” he asked.

  “This is the way every porno starts.”

  “Promise?” Grant shifted and held up his towel. “I’m naked now.” He tossed the towel aside.

  Oh, boy. Things had taken a sexy turn. Which I wasn’t opposed to and really should be.

  I couldn’t resist flirting just a little. “I’m wearing a sweatshirt and I forgot to put on a bra.”

  “You forgot a bra? What a shame. Let me see.”

  I shifted my phone so he could see my chest. What? I couldn’t resist. He was hot, remember? And naked. I pulled the neckline of my scoop-neck shirt just a tiny bit lower so he could see the swell of my breasts.

  “Lower,” he commanded.

  When he used that voice—low and growly and demanding—I got turned on and just automatically obeyed. I dragged my shirt low enough that he could see both of my nipples. He swore under his breath. I let go and my shirt covered me again.

  “You’re so damn sexy,” he told me. “Did you call me to torture me?”

  “No, I swear. I called to try to get to know you better. But for the record, I’m torturing myself too, so that should make you feel better.”

  “It doesn’t,” he said dryly. “And I’m going to end this call before I ask you to come over and spend the night with me.”

  A flush of arousal heated my body up from the inside out. “Oh, really? Would that be a bad thing?”

  He shook his head. “No. But I have to be up at five a.m. tomorrow, and if you come over, I’ll get exactly no sleep because I would need hours to explore every single inch of your body.”

  I’d started a game without even meaning to and now I had just lost. Because now I was going to spend the night wishing I was going cowgirl on Grant’s hard, naked body. “Hours?”

  “Hours.”

  I fanned myself. “I believe you.”

  “Before I go and take a cold shower, when are you free to go shopping?”

  “We’re going shopping?”

  He nodded. “It’s in the contract. You need a wardrobe for the weekend.”

  “I’m not really a girl who reads things like contracts. I just prefer to roll with it.” I’d always been like that and I didn’t see it changing anytime soon.

  Grant winced and rubbed his chest in exaggeration. “That hurts my heart,” he said. “You need to read legal documents, Leah, seriously.”

  I shrugged. “Sure. I can go shopping this Saturday, though we’ll need to keep it on the down low or Lou, my manager, will kill me for doing that instead of working since you told him I need the rest of the week off.” Lou was also going to kill me for needing the next Saturday off but I would cross that bridge on my next shift.

  “Wear what you would normally wear so I can see the real you. As opposed to fifties waitress or a mermaid.”

  “I can do that. Be normal. Or at least not a mermaid.”

  “Why don’t we meet at my office and go from there?”

  I was a
llergic to the idea of office buildings but I was ridiculously curious to see where Grant worked every day. “Sounds good. Oh, and I decided what I want my fake occupation to be. Professional sleeper.”

  Grant gave a soft laugh. “That’s not a job.”

  “It is. You test beds in hotels. I figure it’s something I know, right? It’s not like I can pretend to be a neurosurgeon or a French tutor. I know how to sleep.”

  He rubbed his beard and shook his head. “I don’t think so, Leah. Pick something else.”

  “I’m forbidden to be a pro sleeper? That’s a little harsh. Fine, what do you want me to be?”

  “Something that doesn’t involve a bed.”

  “So sex toy tester is out?” I winked at him.

  Grant’s nostrils flared. “You’re a very dangerous woman. Why can’t you be a waitress? We met exactly the way we really did.”

  “Boo. That’s so boring. But fine. I’ll be a waitress. A dangerous waitress.” I blew him a kiss. “Goodnight, Grant.”

  “Goodnight, Leah.” There was a pause, where I thought he was going to say something else, but he didn’t.

  The screen went blank as he ended the call.

  I took another sip from my wine and started answering Grant’s questionnaire. I got through ten questions when I came to “What is your greatest fear?”

  It made my stomach clench. I couldn’t tell Grant my greatest fear was failure. That I was terrified that in ten years I’d be almost forty and still living in this apartment and never finding success as an actress. That by that point I would have aged out of even working at the diner because they wanted young and perky singers and women have an insanely early expiration date in any entertainment.

  I guess I could always apply to be a professional sleeper at that point.

  I typed into the document a flippant answer.

  Swallowing a roach in my drink at a restaurant.

  That was a very real fear as well.

  Chapter 6

  I was opening up blueprints for a condo building we had going up on E. 63rd when my administrative assistant knocked on the door and said, “Mr. Caldwell, may I come in?”

  “Yes.” I looked up from my computer toward the door.

  Cece opened the door and crossed my office. She had been working for me for about a year, and once she had realized I had no intention of making her my Mrs. Caldwell, she had stopped flirting with me and started working. She had a boyfriend now who was a personal trainer and we had developed a really excellent work rapport. “What’s up?” I asked her.

  I always worked on Saturdays but Cece only did once a month in exchange for having a Monday off with her boyfriend.

  She was frowning. “There’s a woman here to see you but she doesn’t have an appointment. She’s very… boisterous.”

  I glanced at the clock on my computer. “Is her name Leah Romano? We have plans at eleven so you can send her in.”

  Cece hesitated. “Who is she?” she asked curiously.

  Time to put the plan into play. “She’s my girlfriend.”

  Cece was a cool, polished blonde who never showed much emotion but now her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Your girlfriend? Her?”

  That made me frown. “What do you mean, her? That sounded rude as hell.” I stood up and reached for my suit jacket. “We’re going shopping and probably to lunch so I won’t be back until this afternoon.”

  I had no clue what Cece meant by Leah being boisterous. What the hell did that even mean? Was she doing a high-kick in the reception area? And what could be objectionable about Leah? We had actually talked again the night before for over an hour on FaceTime while we both were in bed. After a long day and meeting clients out for drinks, I had wanted to talk to her and I had texted her. She’d answered right away, and when I had called her, our conversation had been easy and flirtatious. Leah was cute and playful and genuinely curious about me and my life. Yes, she was farming for info to sell it at the party with my parents, but at the same time, I thought it was more than that. She was just a curious person and seemed interested in getting to know me.

  As for her, I found myself wanting to draw our conversations out longer. I had woken up thinking about her and wanting to see her today.

  Cece murmured an apology and left. A few seconds later Leah came into my office with Cece right behind her. Not ponytail-and-poodle skirt Leah. Not mermaid Leah. Not even lying-in-her-bed Leah.

  This was sexy Leah. I was shocked to see her in full makeup with smoky eyes and false lashes. I’d only seen her hair down in bed and this wasn’t the same at all. This was loose, but fully controlled waves tumbling down over her shoulders. Between the hair was ample cleavage, boosted up and together by the magic of her wonder bra. She was wearing the tightest jeans I’d ever seen in my entire lifetime, showing off every delicious curve, and I suspected if she didn’t still have an ankle injury, she’d be wearing fuck-me heels.

  I’d told her to be herself today. Apparently, the true Leah was a bombshell. Not the fresh-faced, ponytail-and-bobby socks Leah I had been trying to resist for six months. Instantly I wanted nothing more than to take her and spread her out on my desk and do dirty, delicious things to her.

  Then she said, “Hi, Grant!” in what she had told me months earlier was her Goldie Hawn imitation and I laughed.

  She looked like sin, but she was still silly.

  “Hi, Leah.” I went straight to her and cupped her cheeks.

  Her eyes widened.

  “It’s good to see you,” I said. “Really good to see you.” Then I gave her a lingering kiss.

  “Ooh,” she said when I broke away. “That’s a nice hello.”

  “So you met Cece, my very tolerant assistant?” I murmured. “Not the care package sender, by the way. Different assistant.”

  Leah looked amused. She turned and gave Cece a brilliant smile. “Yes, we had the pleasure of meeting.”

  My administrative assistant was the most rattled I had ever seen her. She looked flabbergasted, which wasn’t surprising. I had never brought a woman to my office for personal reasons.

  “We’re going to grab Leah some things for my parents’ anniversary party next weekend. Can you call Chanel and tell them I’m on my way and we’d like some privacy? We should be there in twenty minutes. Then around one, make us an appointment at Valentino for a cocktail dress. After that, Prada for some casual things. Oh, and have Louis Vuitton send a full set of luggage to my apartment for her.”

  Cece gave me what could only be categorized as a dirty look but she nodded. “Of course.”

  Given the way Leah was dressed, she liked to be sexy but I thought Chanel was a safer bet for the whole meet-the-parents deal. She could have some fun at Prada then to make up for having to be more conservative than I had a feeling she would like to be. I put my hand on her elbow and guided her to the door. “Let’s go.”

  Leah blatantly looked all around her at my office reception area as we went to the elevator. Once we were inside, she said, “I thought we were getting a dress for the party. Not a whole wardrobe.”

  “You’re getting a whole wardrobe.” I pushed her up against the elevator wall. “But I don’t care about that right now. I’m mesmerized by your hot little outfit.”

  Leah gripped the lapels of my jacket. “You’re crowding me, Mr. Caldwell.”

  “Mr. Caldwell is my grandfather. Call me Sexy Beast.”

  She laughed. “I don’t know how you just said that with a straight face. I’m very impressed.” She went on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against my ear. “Sexy. Beast.”

  I felt the force of her words right down to my cock. She was mocking me and I was turned on. Women didn’t tease me. Women coaxed me and complimented me and got pouty with me. I’d had women stomp their feet and storm out but I never had women talk to me the way Leah did. It was a completely new experience that I was enjoying.

  I was hauling her leg up against my thigh so I could get closer to her when the elevator dinged
and the door opened.

  Three people I didn’t know were standing there clearing their throats.

  I dropped her leg.

  Leah said, “Good morning!” in a cheerful voice as we maneuvered past them.

  “How is your ankle?” I asked her, belatedly remembering to be a decent human being instead of a lust-driven cretin.

  “It’s much better. Swelling is almost gone and it doesn’t hurt. I skipped the heels today though.”

  “Probably wise.” I opened the door for her and gestured to the right. “Andre is waiting for us.” I had explained the situation to my driver and had given him a generous bonus to keep his mouth shut.

  Leah got in the car and turned to me. “Did you read all my answers? Did I pass the test?”

  “It wasn’t a test. Just fact-gathering.”

  “Why did I have to tell you my biggest fear but that wasn’t on yours?”

  Because there was no way in hell I was going to reveal to Leah that my biggest fear was that no one could or would love me. That I was going to die alone someday. Fuck that. That nasty thought was staying buried deep down, behind the broken heart at twenty and the devastation and anger at twelve when my parents had fired my nanny. Nope. Wasn’t going to wade through the emotional shit pile of my past.

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” I said. That was mostly true. I didn’t have phobias other than shoes in the house and I wasn’t afraid of anything other than the Shit I Wasn’t Going to Talk About.

  “Ooh, tough guy,” she said. “Cool. I get it. Feelings aren’t trending with you.”

  “You didn’t exactly give me a real answer either, by the way.”

  “Yes, I did,” she protested. “I am terrified of cockroaches.”

  “No cockroaches in Buffalo?”

  “Not a single one.”

  When we got to the Chanel flagship, a staff member was waiting for us. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Caldwell. We have the fifth floor ready for you.” She held her hand out to Leah. “I’m Vivian. I’m here to help you with whatever you need.”

  “I’m Leah, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you.” Leah put her hand into mine as she looked around the first floor of the store in awe.